Which river?) (You said you tookthe boat, you forget too much.) I locate you on streets, in citiesI’ve never seen, you walkagainst a background crowdedwith lifelike detail which crumbles and turns greywhen I look too closely. Why should I needto explain you, perhapsthis is the right place for you The mountains in this hardclear vacancy are blue tinedges, you appearwithout prelude midway betweenmy eyes and the nearest trees,your colours bright, youroutline flattened suspended in the air with no morereason for occurringexactly here than this billboard,this highway or that cloud. At first I was given centuriesto wait in caves, in leathertents, knowing you would never come back Then it speeded up: onlyseveral years betweenthe day you jangled offinto the mountains, and the day (it wasspring again) I rose from the embroideryframe at the messenger’s entrance. That happened twice, or was itmore; and there was once, not solong ago, you failed,and came back in a wheelchairwith a moustache and a sunburnand were insufferable.
